


it's fine

by jwc



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwc/pseuds/jwc
Summary: Skip Westcott is released from prison five years after the trial.Peter doesn't know how to cope.But everything's okay. It's fine.





	1. Chapter 1

At Midtown School of Science and Technology, all juniors were required to complete a twenty page research paper by April 15th. Many of the students complained, as Midtown was a STEM school and therefore they did not need to learn the proper structure of a research paper or how to manage doing one. Peter, and most of the staff, heartily disagreed. He had seen how long some of Mr. Stark’s reports were-- on the verge of becoming a novel. So, in November he decided on writing about clean energy sources the United States could begin to rely on instead of fossil fuels. 

Most students started actually researching and writing the paper in mid-January, and Peter was no different. Except for the fact that he really started the paper in mid-February. It was now March, and he was nowhere near finished. Ned was basically finished with his paper on self-driving cars, and MJ had not complained about hers, which meant she was done. 

Perfect. 

The last Friday before Spring Break-- one week before the first draft was due to each students’ respective English teacher-- Peter was freaking out. He had five pages done. Five. He needed at least fifteen more in a week. 

“I bet Mr. Stark can help you,” Ned said helpfully from across the lunch table. “He’s, like, the creator of clean energy.” 

“No, he’s not,” MJ supplied, not looking up from her book. 

Peter nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he made the arc reactor better, but I want to talk about all the other options we have besides fossil fuels, you know?”

They both did know. They went to a science and tech focused high school. 

“He can probably still help, dude. He’s Tony Stark.” Ned took a bite of his cafeteria pizza. He was right. Tony Stark most likely understood clean energy. However, Peter did not necessarily want to ask for his help. He felt like their entire relationship was based on him needing help, and Mr. Stark providing it. He could handle one English project by himself. 

“Tony Stark isn’t God, Ned,” MJ said. She looked up from her book and took a bite of the apple she was holding. 

Ned scoffed and shook his head. “Yeah, sure.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What are you even writing your paper on? You haven't talked about it at all,” He continued. “It’s a paper about how much you love Stark Industries, right?” Peter snorted. Yeah, sure. MJ loved fortune 500 companies as much as Peter loved being drowned in the Hudson. 

“Gross, no. I’m writing about racism in the criminal justice system.”

Peter looked at her, intrigued. Most juniors were writing about something that connected to science or technology, even if it was loosely. While MJ was smart, much more so than Peter, she was more interested in the humanities than STEM. Sometimes he wondered why she went to Midtown as opposed to one of those liberal arts private schools in Manhattan. 

She noticed that both Peter and Ned were waiting for her to give them more information. She rolled her eyes, but complied. “Right now I’m looking at this case from a few years ago, um…” She trailed off, wracking her brain for something. “ _People v. Westcott_ , I think.”

Peter’s blood ran cold. No way.

“Basically, this white eighteen year old guy had sexually assaulted an eleven year old he was babysitting, and the kid’s parents found out, so they went to the police. It went to court, Westcott-- Steven, maybe? Anyways, he pled guilty and was sentenced to ten years in prison, but he just got out after five years for ‘good behavior,’ as if not getting in fights cancels out assault--”

He heard ringing in his ears. No way.

No way.

No way Sk-- _he_ was out of prison. Aunt May and Uncle Ben said that he was out of their lives for good. 

Five years? That was all Peter’s childhood was worth? _Five years in prison?_

His fingertips tingled, as if waiting for him to punch something. 

Five years.

“Peter?”

Peter snapped out of it, looking back at Ned and MJ. Both of them were looking at him curiously, and he wondered how long he had been zoned out for. “Uh-- do you know where Sk-- Steven is now?” His voice cracked.

“No, why?” MJ responded. Her face remained neutral, but something shone in her eyes. 

“Noth-- nothing,” Peter mumbled, turning back to his half eaten pizza. He was not hungry anymore. 

_________

Peter toyed with not going to fifth and sixth period. When the lunch bell rang, he considered just going home to wait for May’s shift to end so he could hug her. May would know what to do.

If he skipped, May would freak out, and Ned and MJ would know that something was up. He was also supposed to go to Mr. Stark’s after school; Happy was picking him up. So he stayed. It was fine. 

He was sixteen, not eleven. He was _Spider-Man_ , not some asthmatic kid that could not protect himself. Skip was probably long gone by now, maybe in a country where he would not show up as a sex offender. Peter had survived his parents’ deaths. He had survived his uncle dying. He had survived the two months of abuse from Skip Westcott. He could survive this. 

Even though he snapped his pen in half when Mrs. Davis mentioned Albert Einstein in Honors Physics, he was okay. 

_Hey, Einstein. You wanna play a game?_

He was also okay when he fell out of his chair after Ned accidentally brushed his thigh, drawing laughter and stares from his classmates. 

It was fine.

_________

When Peter got to Mr. Stark’s lab, he could not focus. The entire drive over to the Compound he had been completely silent, which threw Happy off. Peter had heard him whisper to Mr. Stark, “Something’s up with the kid,” before exiting the room. He was not supposed to have heard that, so he ignored it, instead dropping his backpack down on the floor and pulling out his suit. 

Mr. Stark hesitated by the door before walking over to Peter, an air of faux-casualness surrounding him. Peter stared at the suit, the bright reds and blues making him feel the slightest bit stronger. He was Spider-Man. Not a kid.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter clenched his fist. He was not a kid. 

“Everything… okay?” Mr. Stark asked, sitting in the chair next to him. Peter looked at the distance between their bodies-- at least two feet. He realized what he was doing and moved his gaze back to the suit. This was Mr. Stark, not… _him_. “Peter?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked and sat up straighter. “Oh-- yeah. I’m fine, just-- just tired.” He waved his hand around his hand, then shoved his suit into the middle of them. 

Mr. Stark made a noise in his throat, but did not say anything. Peter appreciated it.

“The parachute needs to be put back in, and, uh, I tried to fix a little hole on the stomach but I can’t sew very well, so…” Peter trailed off.

“And where did the hole come from?”

He shifted in his seat. “A knife… maybe?”

Mr. Stark sighed and grabbed the suit. “This should just take a few minutes. Don’t break anything.”

“I’m not gonna move--”

“Uh-uh, do your homework, kid.”

Peter bit his lip. He obliged and pulled out his homework to start working on it while Mr. Stark began fixing the suit. Then, an idea popped into his mind. “Uh, Mr. Stark?”

He grunted in response. 

“Can FRIDAY, like, track people?”

The small screwdriver in Mr. Stark’s hand hit the table with a clunk as he looked over at Peter. Apprehension clouded his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m trying to find a…” Peter swallowed harshly. “...fam-- family friend.”

 _We’re friends, right, Pete? This is what friends do, I promise._

The lights in the lab suddenly became very bright, and Peter tried to make his breaths even. If he could prove to himself that Skip was gone for good, he would feel better. Ned was right-- Mr. Stark could help him. Just not with clean energy research. 

“I guess? Depends how easy they are to find,” Mr. Stark said. He pressed something on the table, causing a hologram to pop up. “Name and age?”

“Steven Westcott. He would be… um… twenty-three now, I think. He lived in New York five years ago, but I’m not sure about now.” He watched as Mr. Stark began to type on the hologram keyboard, different pictures and words flashing by on the screen.

“Alright, kiddo. There are three twenty-three year old Steven Westcotts in New York City right now.”

Peter peered at the screen, forcing himself to look at the faces. The first two were definitely not him, but the third… his breath caught in his throat. 

Skip looked the same. Older, sure, but his hair was the same white-blonde as when he was an eighteen-year old, his nose still slightly crooked from when Ben had broken it. His eyes were the pale blue that Peter remembered, the ones that haunted him in his dreams.

_This will be our little secret, Einstein._

“That-- that’s him,” Peter whispered, pointing at the third one. “Wait. He still lives in the city?”

Mr. Stark hummed and clicked on Skip’s box, bringing more information up. “According to his recent bills, yes. Brooklyn, specifically.”

Brooklyn was so close. Skip had been less than half an hour away from Peter for however long he had been out of prison. Not behind bars, not in another country. Minutes away. 

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. It throbbed in his ears. The air was pressing down on him-- since when had it been this hard to breathe?

“Hold on-- this says he’s a registered sex offender. Who is your family friends with, Pete?”

Peter tried to look away from Skip’s photo. The eyes were staring at him, burrowing into his skin. 

_Be quiet! It won’t hurt if you’re quiet._

“Pete?”

_Stop crying, Peter. I don’t want to be friends with a crybaby._

“Peter!”

Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s shoulder, sending him scrambling away. He crashed onto the floor for the second time that day, arms raised protectively in front of his face. Stop-- he wanted it to stop!

Skip would never leave him. He would always be a presence, breathing cold air down Peter’s back. Spider-Man was fake. How could he be a superhero if he was terrified of a normal person? A normal person with white-blonde hair and freezing cold hands and a laugh that made him want to scream and--

“Peter, look at me,” Mr. Stark said, his voice strong. He was kneeling on the ground in front of Peter, his hands held in the air by his head. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you, I promise.”

_This is what friends do. I promise._

Peter choked on a sob, then slapped a hand over his mouth. He could not cry. He would not cry. “I’m sorry-- I’m-- just give me-- me a second,” He forced out. His lungs were not getting any air, his chest was burning. The room was spinning and the lights were too bright, it hurt his head. His whole body hurt.

“Pete, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

He believed him. He really did. Mr. Stark was safe, like May, and Ned, and MJ. 

“I’m-- I’m sorry--”

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Mr. Stark said softly, his hands still obviously visible. 

Slowly, Peter relaxed. He realized he had somehow crawled underneath a table, were he was now hunched over, hugging his knees. His face started to burn. Of course he had just had a panic attack in front of his idol. In front of a real superhero. Peter ruined everything. 

“Peter?”

He nodded.

“What’s happening?” Mr. Stark’s face was scrunched up in concern, but he was staying far away from Peter. It looked like he was restraining himself from touching him. Peter thought that he might scream if anyone touched him in this state. 

“I…” His voice died. He had no idea what to say. 

“Was Steven Westcott… your babysitter?”

Peter swallowed and looked at the floor. There was a stain a few feet to the left of his feet. He couldn't make out what it was. 

“Did he go to prison because of something he did to you?”

He made eye contact with Mr. Stark and nodded almost imperceptibly. Mr. Stark sucked in a harsh breath. 

“I’m fine,” Peter stated weakly. “He just-- I just found out that he got out earlier today, and I thought that he was supposed to be in there for at least ten years, and…” Hot tears began to cloud his vision again. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Mr. Stark said. His voice was hard, rough. Peter winced. “Shit-- sorry, kid.”

The lab was filled with a deafening silence. The only noise Peter could make out was his shallow breathing, loud in his ears. “Can we just— forget about it? Please?” 

Mr. Stark hesitated. Peter recognized the look on his face. Red hot anger blazed in his eyes, his lips pursed tightly. It was the same look Uncle Ben had gotten when Peter told him and Aunt May about what happened when he was being babysat. 

“Please?” He whispered. Dum-E knocked something over, his sad beeps echoing across the lab. When Mr. Stark turned to see what was broken, Peter took the opportunity to wipe the tears from his face. 

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark said, turning back around. He fixed Peter with a stare for a few seconds, then got to his feet. “Sure, Pete.”

Peter slowly got out from under the table as Mr. Stark went back to his station, picking up the Spider-Man suit and examining it closely. 

He was examining it a bit dramatically, to be honest. 

“How did you manage to get yourself stabbed, again?”

The stool squeaked a bit as Peter sat in it. Dum-E knocked something over again. Mr. Stark muttered something about giving the nearby junior college’s lab a robotic donation.

Everything was fine. 

Peter wished he believed that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter continues to not know how to cope. There's no reason to stress people out, right?

The faint smell of wine drifted from Peter’s apartment, only noticeable to him due to his enhanced senses. When he unlocked the front door, he was met with May sitting on the couch sipping from a glass, a Friends episode playing on the TV. May rarely drank, and when she did is was for one of two reasons; she was extremely sad, or extremely happy.

Peter wondered if she had heard about Skip somehow. 

“Hey! How was Tony’s?” May asked, smiling at him as he walked in. So, she didn't know. She wouldn't be smiling if she knew.

“Good,” Peter said. He stopped in front of the couch. 

She looked at him expectantly, her brows furrowing deeper every second he was silent. “Everything okay?” 

He wanted to tell her. He _needed_ to tell her. Instead, he said, “Yeah, I’m just tired.” May didn't seem entirely convinced.

His brain screamed at him to tell her. 

“Did something happen?” He blurted out, motioning towards her wine. 

“Oh, yeah!” She said, her entire face lighting up. “I got a promotion!”

“Really? That’s awesome!” He forced himself to sound happy, ignoring the churning in his stomach. He had left Mr. Stark’s pretty quickly after his whole freak out thing since he couldn't concentrate. At first, he thought that he would be able to explain the situation, cry a little bit, and then have her do _something_. Now he realized that wasn't realistic. May was having a good night-- the first one in a while-- and he just couldn't do that to her. It wasn't fair to her. 

Peter could handle this by himself. He was _Spider-Man_.

“Is it okay if I stay out later tonight?” He asked suddenly.

May squinted at him, cocking her head to the side slightly. “How much later?” 

“Uh, like, one? Two?”

She sighed and placed her glass on the coffee table. “Peter--” 

He cut her off and plastered a smile onto his face. “Please! I promise I’ll be _super_ careful, May. It’s the first day of spring break!” 

A laugh track sounded from the TV, the fake laughter grating to Peter’s ears. May hummed quietly to herself, actually looking like she was considering it. “Okay,” She decided after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

He sagged with relief.

“Ah-ah! But! You have to text me every hour, and be home before two. Capeesh?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Thanks!” Peter said. He dashed off to his room as another laugh track sounded. He heard May take a long sip of her wine. 

It took him less than a minute to strip out of his clothes and into his suit, another thirty seconds to jump out of the window and crawl onto the roof. Almost instantly, he felt stronger. Skip couldn't touch him anymore. 

“ _Hello, Peter,_ ” Karen greeted him as he was refilling his web shooters. 

“Hey, Karen.” He clicked the last capsule into place. Taking a deep breath, he leaped off the roof, immediately shooting out a web. It caught, tugging him back into the air just before he crashed onto the street. “Anything going on right now?” He asked, having to yell a bit to be heard over the wind. 

“ _Nothing in the police scanners,_ ” She replied. Then, after a couple of seconds; “ _Mr. Stark is calling you._ ”

“Uh, why?” Peter knew why. Mr. Stark was supposed to forget about it, though. Why was he calling? 

Instead of an answer from Karen, Mr. Stark’s face popped up in the lower left hand corner of Peter’s view. Peter stifled a groan and landed roughly on the wall of a building he was swinging by. “Hey, how’s it going?” Mr. Stark asked. Somehow the bags under his eyes had darkened in the two hours Peter hadn't seen him. 

“Fine,” Peter said. Honestly, it was. He wasn't feeling sad, or scared, or angry. It was more of an emptiness, spreading out from his heart and radiating towards his fingertips. He liked to think that it was because the rational side of his brain was winning over the emotional side. There was no reason to feel anything towards the situation-- Skip was still far (ish) away, and Peter was better now. Earlier, at school and the compound, he was just startled. Yes, that was it.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. May said I could stay out later on patrol,” Peter stated. He crawled up towards the roof of the building, easily perching on the edge of the short wall that surrounded it. 

“Does… she know?” Mr. Stark asked cautiously. 

“ _No,_ ” Peter snapped. “It’s not that important.”

“Peter--”

_Why_ were May and Mr. Stark always treating him like a child? Everything was _fine,_ he was sixteen and capable of deciding things for himself. “I’ll tell her later,” He lied to keep Mr. Stark sated. “I have to go. Karen, hang up.” 

Mr. Stark pursed his lips, but the call cut out anyway. 

“ _Did you hear something_?” Karen asked. Peter made a noncommittal noise in his throat and leaped off the roof again. 

For the next couple hours or so, he swung around, trying to find things to do. By midnight, all he had done was help a group of twenty-something year olds find a cab. He was growing antsy. One of his hands was starting to shake, but he ignored it. 

May had texted him around eleven, stating that her friends were taking her out to celebrate the promotion.

_Don’t think you can stay out later! I’m still watching you mister_

The longer he went without telling May, the more he convinced himself that it wasn't necessary. It would only stress her out, and he didn't want to do that to her. He just had to persuade Mr. Stark into not telling her, so that the whole thing could end. He didn't want to think about it anymore. 

Peter’s spidey-sense tingled, sending shivers down his spine. He froze up, nearly crashing into a lamp post. The street he was on was basically empty, and no one looked suspicious. The hairs on the back of his neck raised again. “What?” He whispered harshly to himself. 

“ _Are you okay, Peter?_ ” Karen spoke up. 

“I…” Peter trailed off. It felt like his spidey-sense wanted him to go straight. “Don't know,” He finished. Cautiously, he shot a web out and slowly began making his way down the street. It flared up in front of an apartment building. He dropped to the street, staring up at the building in confusion. It looked completely… normal. His spidey-sense wasn't giving up, though. He looked up at the roof and almost collapsed at the sudden surge of pain. What was going on? 

“ _There are two heat signatures on the roof,_ ” Karen said.

Peter jumped and stuck to the wall a couple stories up. He began to scale it, closing his eyes and focusing on the roof at the same time. 

There were two breathing patterns he could hear, not muffled by brick and glass. They were probably the heat signatures Karen had seen. One sounded normal, but the other was fast and shallow. Peter paused just underneath the lip of the roof, not wanting to be seen just yet. 

“Nick,” A girl’s voice said. She sounded shaky. “Please, stop.”

“What are you talking about?” A boy asked. 

Peter’s spidey-sense had backed off, but he could still feel it slightly. There didn't seem to be an obvious threat to him, which was normally when it was triggered. Maybe the whole situation was affecting him more than he thought. 

“I-- I don't--” The girl said.

“C’mon, I thought you liked me?”

“I do, but this is just too much.”

“Don’t be a tease, Em. Just do it!”

“I don't _want_ to!”

Something thudded loudly, followed by a strangled gasp. “I don't care!” The boy-- Nick-- hissed.

The back of Peter’s neck flared up in pain again. Finally, he understood what was happening. 

“Stop!” 

Peter pulled himself onto the roof. He sprinted over to the two people pressed up against the door that led into the building. “Get off of her!” He yelled, ripping Nick off of Em. She fell to the floor, coughing loudly, and Peter slammed Nick up against the wall. “Don’t _fucking_ touch her!”

Nick wheezed and tried to shove Peter off. But Peter was Spider-Man, and he was much stronger than the average human. Nick’s eyes began to water. 

Something started to pull at his arm, but he ignored it in favor of tightening his grip on the pervert’s neck. 

_We’re friends, right, Einstein?_

“Spider-Man! Stop!” Her voice sounded so far away. The tugging intensified. “You’re killing him!”

Peter snapped back into reality. The hand closing around Nick’s throat relaxed, sending him sprawling to the floor. He looked up at Peter in fear. “You-- you freak!” 

He scrambled up to his feet, quickly running around to the door and pulling it open, then disappearing inside. Peter let him go.

He had… almost killed someone.

His hand was shaking again.

“Spider-Man?” Em whispered cautiously. 

Peter whipped around to face her. There was something pressing down on his chest, choking him. Not again, _not again!_

“Are you okay?” She asked. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the shirt she was wearing was missing two buttons on the top. “He won’t-- he won’t remember anything. He’s too high.” 

“I’m-- sorry--” He forced out. “He--”

Em reached out, as if to touch his shoulder.

Peter jumped away from her. He tripped, falling off the roof. Em gasped, but Peter was already swinging away, trying to escape the panic that was clawing at his heart.

___________

Somehow, he made it home. 

The apartment was empty, May probably wouldn't be back until one or two. 

Peter couldn't breathe. It was worse than at Mr. Stark’s. It felt like he was watching himself, like he wasn't inhabiting his body anymore. Karen was trying to talk to him, so he ripped off his mask and threw it to the floor. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe!

He stumbled out into the living room, not sure what he was looking for. The TV was switched off, the black screen reflecting the moonlight coming from the window across the room. Aunt May’s glass of wine was still on the coffee table, now empty. 

Skip’s voice was whispering at him from the back of his mind. Peter clapped two hands over his ears, trying to drown him out. It just made the whispers louder. 

He cried out in frustration and forced his eyes open. He tried to focus on something-- anything-- other than what was going on in his head. His eyes landed on Uncle Ben’s liquor cabinet. 

Aunt May would be so mad at him. But he _needed_ something to dull everything he was feeling. Slowly, he got to his feet and pulled it open, exposing the several bottles of alcohol. He randomly grabbed one from the back, coherent enough to realize that would be less conspicuous. 

He barely had time to read the label-- Hangar 1 in a fancy cursive script-- before he screwed off the lid and gulped some down. It _burned._ He coughed, nearly choking on the bitter taste. Why did people drink this? The alcohol settled in his stomach, making him feel sick. 

His fast metabolism probably made it impossible for him to get drunk, he suddenly realized. But then, the burn lessened to a warmth, and his head began to feel lighter. Maybe his fast metabolism made him get drunk faster.

He swallowed some more. It wasn't as bad the second time. He still coughed and scrunched up his nose at the burning feeling in his nose, but it settled in his stomach quicker. 

The ringing in his ears quieted. He felt like he could breathe again. 

He walked back into his room, much calmer already. He was right-- he could handle this. 

When he looked down at the bottle, he noticed he had almost drinken a third of it. “Oh,” He said.

The bed creaked as he sat down on it. Everything seemed... duller, almost. The moonlight was now barely lighter than the surrounding darkness, the silence of the apartment was less heavy. Peter took another swig. 

Things could be dealt with in the morning. He just needed a break, that’s all this was. A break. 

If the room spun as he stood up to hide the half-empty bottle in his closet, that wasn't important. 

“Karen, what time is it?” Peter whispered to the empty air. She didn't respond. Right, he wasn't wearing his mask. If he put on his mask, she would alert Mr. Stark, and he would tell Aunt May. That was bad. “Sleep,” Peter decided. He fell into his bed, still dressed in his suit.

It felt like he was floating when he closed his eyes. He giggled. This was _much_ nicer.

“Goodnight,” He said to no one.

His breaths began to slow. He fell into a fitful sleep, full of dreams of cold hands and mean laughter and shockingly blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes, I wrote all of this in like two hours. 
> 
> thank you for the support on the last chapter!! I'm guessing this will be less than five chapters total, but honestly I can't plan that far in advance oops


	3. Chapter 3

Peter hadn't moved for two hours.

The entire day he had laid in bed, eventually concerning May so much that _she_ suggested he go out on patrol. So he went out, swung around for a bit, and crawled up to the roof of one of Queen’s taller buildings, where he was now perched. 

May hadn't texted him yet, meaning that she wasn't tracking him. 

He felt removed, on top of the Citicorp building. His feet were dangling over the edge, exposing the dizzying drop to the street below. It was fifty stories tall, the neighboring buildings only being around ten to twenty. If he fell, he probably wouldn't be able to catch himself without injury. 

But he wouldn't fall. He was Spider-Man.

He could see Brooklyn from where he was sitting. He didn't know where to look in Brooklyn— he could figure it out with a quick Google search, but he didn't really want to— but the fact that Skip was right over there sent chills down his spine. 

“ _Peter, are you feeling alright?_ ” Karen asked.

“Yeah, just not much going on.” 

“ _Would you like to work on your research paper more?_ ”

“No, not really.”

“ _I can help you study for Spanish. The test is in a week and two days, and my records show you have only been on the Quizlet twice._ ”

“I said _no,_ Karen,” Peter snapped. He exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude.”

“ _You seem to be stressed, Peter. Is there anything I can do to help?_ ”

“Can you just— I kind of wanna be alone right now.” 

“ _Alright,_ ” Karen said. She stopped talking. 

Peter felt bad for basically telling her to shut up, but the emotion disappeared quickly. He needed some time to accept the fact that his childhood monster was free, and then he would be back to normal. Somehow, he had to tell his brain that there was no reason to still be scared, five years and one radioactive spider later. 

Easier said than done. 

The people below him, on the street, looked tinier than ants. 700 feet above them, he could barely differentiate between bodies, even with his enhanced sight. Nonchalantly, he leaned forward slightly, so that his hands were placed right on the edge of the roof, his head over his knees. He wasn't sure if he had ever been this high before.

He continued to watch the people on the street, zoning out. He pushed some thoughts out of his mind, thoughts like _what if he finds you_ and _you’re ungrateful_ , in favor of just looking. It was peaceful, almost. 

The sound of repulsors broke through his state, the noise stirring him much later than it normally did. Peter heard Mr. Stark touch down on the roof behind him, but he didn't turn around. 

“Kid, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Mr. Stark asked, his voice mechanical and robotic.

“I’m just sitting,” Peter said petulantly. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. 

“Above a fifty story drop.”

“Why are you here?” Peter didn't mean for it to sound harsh, but it came out that way.

“Your AI was concerned about you,” Mr. Stark said. The Iron Man suit took a couple steps forward, the clunks echoing around Peter’s brain. “Which is a hard thing to do, considering she’s, you know, a robot.”

“I’m _fine_ , Karen,” Peter groaned. Karen didn't respond. 

“It’s pretty obvious that you’re not.”

Peter clenched his jaw and shot up, turning around so that his back was facing open air. His heels were less than an inch away from the edge of the roof. He ripped off his mask, fixing Mr. Stark with a hard glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been up here for hours. Normally you can only sit still for minutes,” Mr. Stark responded. He opened his face plate, allowing Peter to see the frown on his face. 

Peter shifted his stance and crossed his arms, not missing the way Mr. Stark’s eyes followed the movement then looked out at the drop. 

“Have you told May?”

“No,” Peter huffed. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mr. Stark softened. “ _Peter,_ ” he said, sounding like May did when Peter said something that made her upset. 

“It’s not! I don't want to talk about this.” He turned, ready to crawl down the side of the building but Mr. Stark grabbed onto his arm. He had stepped out of the Iron Man suit, meaning that Peter could easily pull away and run. For some reason, he didn't. 

“It’s okay to ask for help.”

Peter blinked the sudden surge of tears out of his eyes. “When’s the last time _you_ asked for help?”

“A while. And I have the emotional baggage to prove it. I’m not the best person to model your mental health off of, kid.” 

“I’m… I’m Spider-Man,” Peter started. 

Mr. Stark didn't respond, instead gently pulling Peter away from the ledge. Peter allowed it to happen, looking anywhere but his face. 

“I can handle this.”

“I know you can,” Mr. Stark said. He moved his hand to Peter’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to handle it alone.”

“ _Yes,_ I do.” Peter subconsciously looked back over towards Brooklyn. “I don’t— I can't be more of a burden.”

“You’re never a burden. Peter,” Mr. Stark almost never called him by his full first name, so Peter finally made eye contact. “May loves you, okay? She would drop everything for you. Hell, I would do anything for you, too.”

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat. After a beat of silence, he spoke up again. “I stole some of Ben’s alcohol last night.” 

To Mr. Stark’s credit, he didn't even flinch. “Okay. Did it make you feel better?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted everything to… _stop_ ,” Peter whispered. 

Mr. Stark’s grip tenses on Peter’s shoulder, and he exhales sharply. 

“Not— Not like that, Mr. Stark.” Yes, Peter hated being part of a statistic that was mentioned in high school research papers, but he didn't hate it enough to think about... _that_. The memories were sometimes overwhelming but he always managed to pull himself out of them.

“And if you ever do think about _that_ , you call someone,” Mr. Stark said. “May, or me, or Happy, or Rhodey, or _anyone_.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Peter stated quietly.

“Sure, but I can’t help it.”

Peter laughed humorlessly, looking back over towards Brooklyn. Towards _him_. 

“Kid.”

Peter glanced over at Mr. Stark again. 

“He… he can't touch you. Never again,” Mr. Stark said, steel gripping his voice. 

“I _know_ that! I do. If he tried I would— I would kill him, Mr. Stark. I think I would. And— And I could. I’m not a stupid kid anymore, but I’m still terrified of him!” Peter groaned and covered his face with his hands, trying to conceal the tears growing in his eyes. “It’s been _years_ , why am I still— still _like this_?”

A calming hand is placed on his back, gently rubbing small circles. Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat. _God_ , could he stop crying for _one minute_?

“I just want to forget about— about everything!”

“That’s the thing, kid. You won’t forget. Stuff like this doesn't just… go away.”

“ _Ugh,_ you sound like my old therapist,” Peter commented dryly, wiping roughly at his eyes. 

Mr. Stark chuckled. “I’m not the best at heart-to-hearts, I’ve been told.”

“You’re fine when you’re not spouting stuff from a self-help book,” Peter responded, thankful for the tangent. 

Mr. Stark didn't let him off that easy. “You gotta tell your aunt, Pete. She would want to know.”

Peter nodded and stood up straight, staring out at the vast expanse of the city. “I know,” He mumbled. 

“Okay, come here, kid.” Before Peter can register what was happening, Mr. Stark had enveloped him in a bear hug.

Peter tensed, then relaxed, wrapping his arms around Mr. Stark as well. He buried his face in his mentor’s neck, relaxing further when Mr. Stark began to gently card a hand through Peter’s curls. 

“You’ll get there,” Mr. Stark said softly.

Peter didn't really know what _there_ meant, but he understood at the same time. 

He would get there. It was probably going to take a while, but he had help. Even if he didn't want it, help would always be available. 

Peter didn't know if he would ever be able to talk about Albert Einstein without wanting to throw up. But he believed Mr. Stark, he decided. He was going to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is actually the end. i'm not so sure about how i feel about this, but i've been putting off writing this last chapter for long enough. 
> 
> my school finally got out, so i'm hoping to write a bit more over the summer-- feel free to check out some of my other stuff if you want! 
> 
> thanks for reading!


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